Dead Woman's Shoes: 1 (Lexy Lomax Mysteries) (32 page)

The cabin wasn’t there.

“Sh...!” Lexy ran forward, stumbling over pieces of broken wood, debris and clods of torn-up earth. The entire building had slid back several yards, the veranda ripped from the ground, broken struts like a row of drunks on a tightrope.

Lexy clambered frantically up to the warped front door, a single thought in her mind.

She kicked the door open and groped for the light switch. By some miracle it was still connected. The living room sloped at a crazy angle, the chintz sofa and sideboard both slammed up against the far wall along with everything else that wasn’t screwed down.

The whole place was slipping down the cliff.

Lexy crept along the hall, trying not to listen to the tortured creaks coming from the very fabric of Otter’s End.

The bedroom had already begun to split away from the rest of the cabin, setting off on its final journey. Rain splashed through a jagged hole in the roof. The bed was jammed on its side against the far wall, and under it was wedged the suitcase.

“
Bollocks!
”

Holding on to the door frame with one hand, Lexy slid on her backside down the soaking carpet until she was leaning against the bed. She tried to move it with her feet and legs, but it refused to budge.

She flinched at a particularly loud squeal of protest from the cabin. With an ear-splitting crack, the back edge of the bedroom split open. The bed itself slowly turned over and crashed out of the cabin, then bounced absurdly out of sight down the dark cliff.

It was so nearly followed by the suitcase.

Lexy, lying on her back with one hand still clinging to the door frame, had wrapped her legs around it. She lay helpless for a few seconds, gathering what remained of her strength, then gripping the suitcase handle for dear life with her free hand, she began to inch backwards up towards the door. Her arm nearly ripped out of its socket.

With a muscle-wrenching effort she gained the bedroom doorway, and dragged the suitcase up the buckled hall floor. But just as she reached the living room door, a massive clap of thunder shook the cabin, and she began to slide slowly back as the entire back half of Otter’s End disintegrated.

She gave an almighty yell, seized the suitcase with both hands and hurled it through the door into the sloping but still intact living room.

It shot back towards her, then took a lucky bounce and came to rest hard behind the door. The lid swung open and the bank notes burst out like a flock of startled pigeons.

Her hands now free, Lexy pulled herself into the living room. She shoved the door closed on the dark vista of open cliff and sea, and crouched on the slope trying to grab at the notes and stuff them back into the suitcase.

The sound of splitting wood made her look up, alarmed, from her crab-like pose. The front door burst open, creating a whirling through-draft, and the bank notes flurried even more furiously through the air. A figure balanced on the threshold.

“Shut the bloody door!” she bawled. “And help me!”

Milo stretched out a hand towards her.

“No, you idiot – get the money.” She plucked a handful of fifties from the air.

“Where did this come from?” Even in this situation, Milo was acting the cop. He reached out a hand to grasp at a passing note.

“I stole it,” Lexy yelled. “All right?”

Milo dropped the note as if it were a poisonous snake. It whirled up in a sudden gust, and stuck to his wet face.

Lexy gave a wild bark of laughter. He peeled the note from his cheek, and stared at it.

“Help me get them back. They’re not mine,” she yelled again.

“No way – we need to get out of here. It’s about to go. Give me your hand.”

“I’m not going anywhere without this money,” Lexy bellowed.

The two of them frantically collected as many notes as they could and stuffed them back into the suitcase, then Lexy scrambled out of the remains of her front door, and Milo, holding the suitcase to his chest, clambered out straight after. They ran for cover just as the remains of Otter’s End collapsed and tumbled down the cliff face towards the beach.

“Edward warned me this might happen,” Lexy remarked, with dangerous calm.

“Get in my car,” said Milo.

“Seats’ll get wet.” Lexy looked down at her soaking jeans.

“Doesn’t matter. Get in.”

Lexy slung the suitcase in the back, and slumped into the passenger seat.

The detective jumped in beside her, shut the door, and turned to her.

“I’m sorry about Kinky,” he said.

Lexy was glad that Milo had called Kinky by his name. Even if it was a stupid one.

She blinked rapidly.

“OK. Now, what’s the story with that?” He jerked his head back at the suitcase with its soggy cargo.

Lexy contemplated the money. The reason for all her problems. The reason she was homeless, dogless and alone.

“Since you ask, my arsehole husband recently stole a previously undiscovered Lowry painting and sold it on the black market.”

“Oh, God,” moaned Milo.

“He was doing a valuation for a house clearance after an old man died. The man – Gillespie was his name – had left instructions that all the proceeds of the clearance sale were to go to charity. Gerard found the Lowry in the loft, among a load of ordinary, low-value paintings. Identified it immediately. He must have thought his ship had come in.” Her eyes hardened. “He donated five hundred quid to English Heritage – his idea of irony – and sold the Lowry to a dealer for half a million. Cash. When I discovered that he’d taken the proceeds and stashed them in his safe, probably to provide himself with a tax-free pension, I took the money myself.” She looked steadily at the detective. “I’m going to give an anonymous donation to the bird sanctuary down the road. I’ve heard there’s a pair of warblers that could do with some help.”

Milo regarded her for a long moment.

“You are a rather remarkable person,” he stated softly.

23

“So you’ve decided to move on?”

Lexy and Guy Ellenger were sitting at a wooden picnic table outside a fisherman’s hut. Four chihuahuas frolicked in a rough patch of grass nearby. Lexy watched them pensively.

“Thought it would be for the best,” said Guy. “Start a new life in the Yorkshire Dales, take on some fresh challenges, expand into cattle and sheep, that kind of thing.”

“You’re starting to sound like James Herriot already.” Lexy kicked at the sandy soil beneath her feet.

“I’ll miss Clopwolde, obviously.” Guy smoothed out a sheet of paper in front of him, not looking at her. “But I thought it would be best to get Hope into a completely new environment.” His voice dropped. “How much did she tell you, by the way? That evening when you were at her place?”

“Not much.” Lexy attempted a shrug.

“Everything, then?”

She nodded.

“I thought she must have done. Explains a few things.” He glanced swiftly at Lexy. “You’re the only other person who knows. Avril Todd just took a wild guess about the way our father died, but it was obviously close enough to send Hope over the edge. As soon as you told me that Avril had been killed I thought Hope had done it. She’d been acting so strangely lately. That’s why I called her straight off and told her to say she was at the surgery with me on Friday night if anyone asked. Gut reaction. I’d got so used to protecting her.”

“Protecting her?”

Guy Ellenger gave her a complicated look.

“Listen – I would never have gone through with that false alibi if Hope had really murdered Avril.” He paused. “I mean, an eight-year-old kid pushing a vicious drunk down the stairs on the spur of the moment is one thing, but an adult murdering someone in cold blood... Believe me, I do appreciate the difference.”

“Hang on – I thought you were ten when you did it?”

He gave her a curious look. “Is that what she told you? That I did it?”

Lexy nodded.

“And you believed her?”

Lexy stared out across the flat, watercolour Suffolk landscape without answering him. She might have known that a brilliant vet who looked like God’s gift to women and could cook and multi-task couldn’t possibly have a dark side. And now he was moving to the Yorkshire bloody Dales.

Guy pushed the sheet of paper towards her. “My new address and phone number, in case you ever happen to be in the area.”

“Thanks.” She pocketed it. He’d have a wife before the year was out. Northern women weren’t daft. “You know where I’ll be.”

They looked up at the sturdy wooden hut behind them, built on high stilts in the old Suffolk tradition. “Edward was using it for a beach hut, would you believe.”

A few yards away a slow-running river meandered past on its way to the sea. The sea itself was a good five-minute walk away over a high shingle bank. Lexy had made sure of that – one cabin sailing off into the sunset was enough. A distant view of the sea from the front window was enough for her. From the back she could look out over an endlessly changing vista of reed beds and water meadows.

It was a good base for a private investigation business. Plenty of opportunity for uninterrupted thinking.

They watched as a white estate car rolled slowly along the rough stone path towards the hut and pulled up outside. The door slammed.

“Look out,” said Lexy. “It’s Robocop.”

DI Milo removed his shades and gave Lexy a weary glance.

He had been reinstated. Mitigating circumstances. Lexy privately reckoned that as no one could stop Milo being a policeman, the chief constable thought it would probably be simpler to give his warrant card back.

He took a seat, fitting his legs with some difficulty under the picnic table.

“Is that another one for frappé and profiteroles?” Edward’s face appeared at an open window above them, Peter beside him.

“Just a tea, thanks.”

“
Philistine
...” The faces withdrew.

Milo raised a querying eyebrow at Lexy.

“We’re having morning coffee,” Lexy explained. “Edward likes to do things properly. According to him, tea is an afternoon drink.”

“Not for me, it isn’t,” said the detective.

Before long they were all seated around an elaborate tray of coffee and pastries.

Milo took an awkward sip from a bone china teacup with pink rosebuds on it.

“How’s business?”

“Quiet,” admitted Lexy. “But I only moved in last night.”

“Didn’t stop you last time.”

“Don’t remind me. On my first morning in Otter’s End I’d agreed to follow a cheating wife and find a lost cat before I’d so much as unpacked my toothbrush.”

“And neither of those cases turned out quite the way you expected.” Guy gave her a rueful smile.

“It certainly took me a while to work out that they were linked. I just wish I’d got on to Tammy earlier. But it could have been a lot worse. I’m really grateful that Edward got to Tammy before she got to me.”

“Think nothing of it, sweetie,” said Edward. “It was just fortunate that I spotted Kinky in the Caradocs’ front garden while I was...” He hesitated; they hadn’t told Guy about DI Milo’s intention to haul him off to the police station again that evening. “Anyway, I thought the little mutt had given you the slip. I pinned him down on the front door mat and that’s when I overheard good old Tammy giving you chapter and verse inside. Couldn’t believe my shell-likes.”

“I was grappling with reality myself,” said Lexy. She glanced at Milo. The two of them had also kept quiet about their last-minute suspicions concerning Edward.

“Thanks to you I was becoming something of an expert at breaking down doors by that point,” Edward continued.

“Odd, that. It’s not as if you’re usually the violent type,” Peter remarked, dryly. “Except where my Clarice Cliff collection is concerned.”

“What happened to Tristan after Tammy was arrested?” Guy interjected.

Lexy shrugged. “He got discharged from hospital and he’s recovering at a relative’s house in the west country. Don’t think he’s intending to return to Clopwolde.”

“Is he facing any charges?”

Lexy glanced at Milo. “No – when all’s said and done, he didn’t actually commit any crimes. He was just having a mid-life crisis
extraordinaire
. He couldn’t really be done for stealing his own cat. Or having a fling with an eighteen year old.”

Guy snorted. “He threatened you with a syringe-full of pet tranquilliser.”

“I agreed not to take that any further,” said Lexy. “He’s got enough problems, what with his wife on a charge of double murder. Anyway, he did give me a nice present before he left Clopwolde.”

“Yes – we need talk about that, lovie,” Edward cut in. “That animal is destroying my ancestral home. You should see my Liberty drapes. Ruined.” He selected a cinnamon pastry.

“Well, I can’t keep her here,” said Lexy, reasonably. “Anyway – I’ve seen the way she and you look at each other. When she’s wrapped around your neck.”

“She won’t be able to do that for much longer – she’ll be far too fat. In fact, she’s already trying to find somewhere suitable for a nest. I’m just hoping it won’t be my Louis XIV
armoire
.”

“Do cats nest?” enquired Milo.

“Suffolk Rexes do,” Edward informed him knowledgeably.

“Are you going to keep any of the kittens?” Milo asked Lexy.

Edward replied before she could. “With a horde of American cat-fanciers in a bidding war over them? I don’t think so, dear. Lexy’s got to pay me rent for this place somehow or other, and that’s before we even think about the Liberty drapes. To say nothing of my washed silk Chinese rug, which looks like a big pile of hamster bedding now. Pets, eh? More trouble than they’re worth.”

“He won’t let me sell the kittens,” Lexy said in a stage whisper to the others.

Edward sipped his coffee primly, then suddenly choked. A solid white bird had emerged from a mound of reeds beside the river and stood several yards away, glaring at them.

“Bit close for comfort,” remarked Peter.

“Yes – I don’t like the look of that beak. Shoo.” Edward made an ineffectual flapping motion with a napkin.

The group of chihuahuas surged forward, with shrill barks.